


Push Away The Unimaginable

by What_They_Call_Me



Series: Broken Batfamily [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne-centric, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Timeline What Timeline, losing a child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26124922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/What_They_Call_Me/pseuds/What_They_Call_Me
Summary: Bruce moved his hands to Jason’s neck, because that was an easier pulse point to find. He was sure he would be able to find a steady thumping.Still nothing.No! No! No!A companion piece to 'The Years Away' about Bruce's journey in losing a son.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Series: Broken Batfamily [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896931
Comments: 10
Kudos: 148





	Push Away The Unimaginable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tawo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawo/gifts).



> So this fic is entirely made because @tawo wrote this comment asking why Bruce didn't recognize Jason and it really stuck with me. Then that idea turned into this monster of a work, so I really apologize.  
> (Any tears are @tawo 's fault. lol)

MINUTES AFTER JASON’S DEATH

Bruce was so close to the warehouse that he heard the boom of the explosion, and he saw the building crumble in on itself. His brain seemed to stop working for a moment as he watched it all fall down.

If he had just been a little faster, if he had arrived a few moments earlier the building wouldn’t have toppled on top of his son.

There was a renewed energy in his movements. Bruce sprinted to the crumbled remains of the warehouse. It was a localized blast, meant to bring the building down, not to blow Jason up. So there was still time, maybe Jason was okay. Hope beat at his chest, refusing to die, refusing to let Jason die.

He dug at the ruble with a frenzy. The stones scraping through his gloves, some of them so hot the boiled his flesh, but he had to get to Jason, had to pull Jason out.

When he found his son something in him broke, because Bruce knew, he knew that Jason couldn’t survive with the injuries that the child had, but his heart beat out of his chest, hoping against all hopes that Jason was actually okay. He pulled the boy from the rubble, Jason was scarily quiet, that boy has never been quiet once in his life, always loud and precocious, Jason even talked in his sleep, but this was unnatural.

Jason’s face was swollen and bloody, almost so severely that Bruce couldn’t tell who it was, if it hadn’t been his own son, Bruce wouldn’t have been sure. He was matted with blood, his uniform ripped and tattered.

Bruce tore his glove off, and put it to Jason’s wrist.

Jason was still warm, and hope surged in Bruce’s chest anew. But there was no pulse.

Bruce moved his hands to Jason’s neck, because that was an easier pulse point to find. He was sure he would be able to find a steady thumping.

Still nothing.

No! No! _No!_

THREE DAYS AFTER JASON’S DEATH

Bruce felt like life was going by in a blur, his brain was scattered and his mind was a mess. He didn’t even remember returning to Gotham, just Alfred’s face when he walked in sans Jason, the way that Alfred just crumpled. 

Bruce had never seen Alfred cry, even when he was a child and without his parents, but now Alfred’s face was twisted in fresh agony. Bruce didn’t know what to do.

They told everyone Jason had died in a car crash. 

When it was the day, Bruce sat in his study, silently staring at the wall. Sometimes the phone rang, people giving him false sympathies, people he hadn’t spoken with in years calling to get both gossip and because when a person loses their child there really isn’t anything to say.

Dick was due home at the end of the week, and Bruce wondered if he should call his eldest to break the news. But his mind flashed to his empathetic son, and worried about him distracted by his emotions. Worried that he would be so upset that he might make a mistake, that he might die.

Bruce had already lost one son, he refused to lose another.

So he and Alfred mourned alone and in silence, neither of them willing to speak. The manor seemed too cold, too quiet.

Bruce kept waiting for Jason to burst through the door, cuss at them and tell them that it was all a misunderstanding.

The only thing Bruce did with any consistency was go out as Batman. He went out longer, fought harder, and brought in more criminals than ever before. 

In every criminal he saw the Joker, in every victim it was Jason.

It made Bruce mad with rage, he punched their faces in, even for the relatively smaller crimes. The streets were growing quiet, fear of Batman’s sour mood deterring all criminal activities.

If Bruce was in his right state of mind, he might have worried that Bruce Wayne’s son had died at the same time Robin stopped coming out with Batman. But Bruce didn’t care, he needed to go out as Batman, he needed to do something that wasn’t stare at a wall and think about all the ways he had failed his son.

SIX DAYS AFTER JASON’S DEATH

The Teen Titans returned to Earth, and Bruce had been waiting for them in the tower. He wore a crumpled suit, not his Batman get up. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, and his face was jaunt.

The titans entered their lounge, they wore matching expressions of giddy excitement. It was a look that Bruce used to get after completing a long and difficult mission. Beast Boy faltered upon entering, he looked at the billionaire with a cocked head and a star struck expression.

“Whoa its Mr. Wayne.” Beast Boy exclaimed.

Bruce looked down at himself, blinking as if he hadn’t realized he was in a suit. But then his eyes found Dick. 

Dick’s smile, which had been giddy and bright was falling quickly. Never before had Bruce looked so haggard, and Dick could tell that something was wrong. 

“You need to come home.” Bruce forced out thickly. It hurt his throat to speak. 

The titans, minus Dick, were looking at each other confused. None of them knew Dick’s secret identity, no one knew this was his father. But Dick looked scared, terrified, his face pale as milk.

“What happened?” Dick asked, pushing forward through his team.

Bruce couldn’t meet Dick’s eyes, so he focused on the others instead. Taking in their expression of confusion. It was easier than the terror across Dick’s face.

Dick and Bruce were just starting to get along, just mending their broken relationship. Dick had just started to let Jason in, just started to see him as something other than a replacement, and instead as a legacy, as a brother. And it was all screwed up, Bruce had screwed it all up!

“We should talk about this somewhere else.” Bruce said, “Somewhere private.”

“No!” Dick shouted, “Tell me now.”

Dick was scared now, Bruce hadn’t seen Dick scared since he was a little boy, nine and frightened standing over his parents corpses. But now Dick was shaking like a leaf, bright tears shining in his eyes. Bruce bit his lip, he wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t that Bruce was too macho to cry, it was just that he was dried up, it felt like he had been crying since Jason had died. It felt like his new nightly routine would forever be to cry himself to sleep.

“It’s Jason.” Bruce started, he knew he should speak delicately. Break the news carefully, but his brain couldn’t find a way to do that, “He’s dead. He died six days ago.”

For a single heartbeat the world was perfectly still, there wasn’t any movements. And then Dick pitched forward, curling his arms around Bruce in a tight hug. Bruce hadn’t been hugged by Dick since before the kid struck out on his own. 

He felt Dick’s shoulders shake, felt the tears wet his clothes. They didn’t say anything, which was both terrible and a relief, just held each other for a long moment. 

“The funeral is tomorrow.” Bruce said when Dick finally detangled himself. Dick nodded, and said he needed a minute to get his things.

Most of the Titans had left, sensing that the pair needed time to be along, all except Starfire who was blinking at the display from a distance. Dick moved past her without a word.

SEVEN DAYS AFTER JASON’S DEATH

No one ever told Bruce how difficult it is to plan a funeral, especially the funeral of your son. When he picked out the coffin, the man at the funeral home gave him a pitied look murmuring about how no one should lose a child. 

People kept saying that, ‘no one should lose a child’ as if that helped anything. It didn’t, but Bruce nodded and accepted their sympathies anyway.

Then he had to pick out a picture for the memorial service, it had to be a closed casket service because of all the trauma Jason had sustained. So he had stared at the dozens of photos spread upon his desk, just not able to pick one. There were so many options, his school picture, where he refused to smile, a few candid photos of Jason laughing, all captured stealthily by Alfred. There was a picture from Christmas, were Jason was wearing a matching pjyama set as Dick, Jason had loudly protested the idea, but ended up dressed up anyhow. That picture Jason looked ridiculous, wearing a ‘Santa Squad’ shirt and flipping off the camera.

Alfred had come in a few hours into the process.

“Have you decided on a photo yet Master Bruce?” Alfred asked, voice tight. Alfred sagged, his skin seemed to stretch thinly over his skin. Jason’s death was hitting them all hard.

“I can’t -” Bruce started, but he stopped himself. He couldn’t what? Couldn’t chose a picture? Couldn’t protect his son? Couldn’t believe any of this was happening?

Tears dropped onto the maple desk, one splashing on the picture of Jason from Christmas. Bruce quickly grabbed it, worried his tears would ruin the photo, even though he had copies.

“That photo does exemplify his character doesn’t it?” Alfred said, a touch of humor in his tone.

Bruce agreed, he thought of what would happen if he chose this picture, how the people would gawk at the photo. They would whisper about Jason, and about Bruce.

Finally Bruce decided on a picture he couldn’t remember being taken. It was easier because there was no memories attached to the image. If he tried hard enough he could imagine that it wasn’t Jason.

The day of the funeral, Bruce was at the funeral home early, he stared at the casket, it was still open, for Bruce to say his own private good byes.

Jason was so still, he looked pale and cold. He was wearing a suit, one that Bruce knew he would’ve hated. Briefly Bruce wondered if he should have buried his boy in that ratty sweatshirt that Jason loved so much.

“Jaylad.” Bruce whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

It wasn’t enough, saying sorry didn’t bring Jason back from the dead. Being sorry didn’t help him.

The service was packed, people crowding in with each other to pay their respect to Jason. But Bruce knew that most of these people never could stand Jason, they had always whispered it when they thought Jason and Bruce couldn’t hear. They were here for the sensationalism, not his son.

The service was beautiful, and the only thing Bruce could think about was how much he would’ve hated this.

“What’s the point in all this luxury, the dead don’t care.” Jason would’ve whispered into Bruce’s ear, and Bruce would have had to shush him quickly.

The burial was a private matter, just Dick, Alfred, Barbara, Jim and himself. It hurt Bruce more than he cared to admit that Jason only had five people who truly cared about it. Dick was crying as the casket was lowered, Barbara held his hand in hers. Alfred sniffled, a Gladioli in his hands.

Bruce had wanted to bury Jason next to Catherine Todd, but Catherine had been cremated. Her remains had stayed at the crematorium for two months waiting for someone to claim them, and when no one did, her ashes were unceremoniously scattered in the parking lot. So instead he buried Jason on his own family plot. Jason was laid to rest beside Thomas and Martha Wayne.

When they had finished lowering the coffin, Bruce placed a hand on his parents grave marker, “Please watch out for him up there.” 

Bruce didn’t know if he believed in an afterlife, in heaven or in hell, but he figured it was worth a try.

TWO WEEKS AFTER JASON’S DEATH

Bruce returned to the Cave tired and bruised. He had fought half of Penguin's goons on his own. He had taken them down brutally, leaving more than one in the need os the hospital.

Dick was standing waiting for him in the cave, arms crossed over his chest.

“You’re being reckless B.” Dick said in a angry tone.

Dick was always angry now, after his initial despair, Jason had moved on to righteous rage. Everything made seemed to set Dick off, like he was a live wire and anything could be the spark.

“I handled it.” Bruce gritted out, refusing to rub at his sore shoulders.

“You need back up, I will help you out there.” Dick almost begged. It brought back memories of young children pleading to go out and help people. He remembered how Dick had just asked repeatedly, kept poking and needling him until Bruce had finally broken down. And how Jason had said he would be Robin with such finality that Bruce knew he would go out no matter what.

Then Bruce’s mind went back to the time he had to yank Jason’s silent and broken body from the rubble. He remembered that Jason had died, because Bruce wasn’t fast enough.

“No.”

There was no way that Bruce could lose another son.

“Jason died!” Dick shouted, and Bruce flinched, “And if you keep this up you will be in the ground next to him. Don’t let me lose you too.”

Bruce let out a deep breath.

“I’ll be more careful.” He promised.

But truthfully, Bruce wouldn’t mind it he died on one of his escapades. Gotham had taken so much from him, had ripped his parents away from him as a child. Then it raised a madman that had murdered his son. It kept taking and taking, why shouldn’t it take his life too?

ONE MONTH AFTER JASON’S DEATH

Bruce returned to work. He went through the motions of his job, doing paper work and signing off on new projects. He tried his best to ignore the sympathetic stares and the quiet whispers.

People told him that he could take more time, that no one would blame him if he stayed home for longer. But Bruce couldn’t stand to be in the house, somehow every time he is there he ends up in Jason’s room. He would sit on Jason’s bed miserable and just staring. 

It was easier to be at work, to be doing something with his hands, keeping his mind off of everything.

At lunch he went across the street to a small coffee shop and ordered. The coffee shop was crowded, but one kid caught Bruce’s eye. It was a kid, a boy looking down at his phone. And Bruce was sure, suddenly so very sure that this was Jason.

The kid had the same frame, had the same hair.

Bruce moved without thinking, reaching out and putting a hand on Jason’s shoulder, a smile of relief on his face. His heart thumping loud in his ears.

“Jason!” Bruce smiled, the first smile he had cracked in a month.

The kid turned around and the illusion shattered. It wasn’t Jason, the features on his face were all wrong. But Bruce had been so sure, from the back the kid was identical to Jason.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Bruce started, “I though you were someone else.”

Bruce went home right after that, not even telling his secretary, and he cried until it was time to go out as Batman.

THREE MONTHS AFTER JASON’S DEATH

Bruce wasn’t surprised when he started having nightmares, he was surprised they took so long to manifest. At nights Bruce would see Jason sitting in the library at Wayne Manor. At first he was okay, smiling and happy with a book open in his hands.

“Jason?” Bruce would always ask, stepping forward. He would reach out, to hug his son, but Jason’s face would shift before Bruce could touch him. Those bruises from his his death, the blood and gore all back matting Jason’s face.

Bruce would try and move, but he was frozen in space. 

“You let me die!” Jason would scream, still covered in bruises, “I am dead because of you! You did this to me!”

Bruce would shake his head. He would try to get the words out, but they were frozen on his lips.

“You fucked up Bruce! And now I’m dead!” Jason would scream.

When Bruce would wake up his bed would be sticky with sweat, the sheets plastered to his skin. Usually he threw up, usually he cried. 

But the worst thing about the dreams was that it was all true. It was his fault that Jason was dead, his fault that Jason is only in his dreams and no longer here with him.

SIX MONTHS AND ONE WEEK AFTER JASON’S DEATH

“David Martinelli is in a coma.” Dick said as a way of a greeting. 

Bruce bit his lip, he didn’t turn to face Dick, just kept typing away on the Bat computer.

“Did you hear me?” Dick asked.

“Yes.”

“And what you just don’t care? You put a man in the hospital Bruce! If the paramedics hadn’t gotten there in time he would’ve _died_!” Dick insisted.

Bruce typed with more force, his fingers slamming on the key board. David Martinelli had been a mistake, he had meant to just bring the man in, but then he saw the little boy that Martinelli had been abusing. The kid hadn’t looked anything like Jason, but Bruce had still seen his son reflected in the boy’s eyes.

He had snapped, punching the man until his fists split open and blood covered his hands. The only thing that had snapped Batman out of it was the child’s crying.

Batman looked at himself, straddling this mobster beating him within an inch of his life, and realized he went too far.

“Call 9-1-1.” He had said to the boy, who did exactly what he was told. 

The paramedics came just in time, one of them clucking his tongue at Batman, disappointed in the heavy amount of force utilized. But Batman hadn’t cared, instead he knelt before the child. The kid couldn’t have been more than five, and he cowered in fear behind the legs of one of the paramedics.

That had hurt Bruce more than anything else could have. To see a child quiver in fear because of him.

“I know Dick.” Bruce finally said, blinking back to the present. 

The chair was forcefully swung around forcing Bruce to meet Dick’s angry gaze. This experience seemed to shape Bruce, made him into a leader. He was keeping Bruce from skittering off the edge, which Bruce knew was too much to ask from his son. If anything Bruce should be keeping Dick up.

“No Bruce! No more one word answers! I know this is your least favorite thing to do, but we need to talk.” Dick said.

Bruce opened his mouth and closed it again. 

Thankfully Bruce was saved from answering by Alfred’s voice drifting from the top of the steps. Alfred hadn’t entered the cave since Jason died, at first he wouldn’t even go into the study, but he was slowly making his way back down.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred’s voice echoed, “We have a guest who is most insistent that he speaks with you.”

Dick sighed dramatically, throwing his hands into the air. As if Bruce had somehow engineered the interruption to get out of this conversation.

“Tell them to go away.” Bruce gritted out.

There hadn’t been a guest in the manor in over six months, he wasn’t about to break that streak now.

“I have, but this is a child and it is raining very hard. I don’t feel right about leaving him outside.” Alfred mussed.

Bruce didn’t want to, didn’t want to see a kid and then be more violently reminded that Jason was dead. He couldn’t handle it, not so soon after the Martinelli incident. But he couldn’t just leave the kid in the rain.

Sighing Bruce stood up, smoothing down his suit jacket and climbed the stairs into the manor. He was vaguely aware that Dick was following him.

Bruce ushered the kid into the manor, and like predicted he saw Jason in the child. This kid was lean and pale. He had a mess of black hair and sparkling grey-blue eyes. He couldn’t have been much older than eleven, the same age Jason had been when he first came here.

Bruce shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thought.

“Now, what was so urgent that you had to come to my house in a down pour?” Bruce asked in an impassive voice.

“I know that you’re Batman, and I want to be your new Robin.” The kid said.

Dick fell backwards into a plush seat, but Bruce didn’t move. The kid looked at Bruce, he had the same stubborn set of his jaw, the same one that Jason used to have.

“And why do you think I’m Batman?” Bruce mused, watching the the kid carefully. It was possible that he had just made a guess, one that landed correctly. Afterall much more trained detectives were stumped, it would be nigh impossible for a child to figure it out.

“I don’t think you’re Batman.” The kid insisted, pulling out a manilla folder from the inside of his rain jacket. The paper was damp and the corners were floppy. “I know you’re Batman.”

The kid gave Bruce the folder, inside was carefully detailed notes and concrete evidence that Bruce was in fact Batman. The work was spectacular, all the evidence was sound, despite some jumps in logic, everything in there was correct. And there were plenty of photos, glossy shots of Batman fighting. The kid knew what he was doing.

Bruce handed Dick the folder, afterall Dick secret identity had been compromised as well, and he turned to look at the kid.

The kid shifted, looking a little nervous, which sent a bolt of shame through Bruce. “Listen I’m not going to out you or anything. I’m Tim Drake and I am going to be your new Robin.”

The kid spoke it like it was an inevitable fact, but it wouldn’t be. Bruce would never let another child die in the field, he was never going to bring another child into this. 

“No.” Bruce disagreed flatly.

“Batman needs a Robin.” Tim argued hotly, “In the past six month Batman has increased the number of hospitalization by 33%.”

It went unsaid for the reason why these hospitalizations happened. That Batman was growing unhinged after the death of his protege. And Bruce knew about the increase of force used, of course he knew this, but he didn’t like to be reminded of it by a child. A child he didn’t even know!

“I am not looking for a new Robin.” Bruce repeated. “It’s time for you to go home. Alfred, please phone Tim’s parents and see that he gets home safely.”

SIX MONTHS AND THREE WEEKS AFTER JASON’S DEATH

Bruce stays up at night worrying about Tim Drake, the kid won’t leave it alone. He goes out every night, wearing a ridiculous costume that offers no protection. Somehow the kid always found Bruce while on patrol. He would run across the rooftops, much slower than Bruce, but always determined to catch up.

Bruce worried that Tim would one day get hurt, would get himself killed in his quest to be the new Robin. 

But Bruce was too stubborn to allow a new Robin. The role of Robin died with Jason, there would never be another, there would never be another casualty in his mission to clean up Gotham.

Unfortunately Dick didn’t seem to feel the same way about Tim as Bruce did. Dick fawned over the kid, smiling and laughing, offering suggestions on roof jumping technique.

It made something ugly rise in Bruce, something Bruce was careful to keep hidden deep under his skin. Because it had taken Dick and Jason almost three years to warm up to each other, and Dick was accepting this new child even though he wasn’t in the family. Bruce wanted to pull out his hair, because he couldn’t understand his son, not in this. It made Bruce wish that he had gone about the adoption of Jason differently.

Then he felt guilty about thinking that, because the time Bruce had with Jason was more than he deserved. He shouldn’t wish to change any of it, expect for the very end.

EIGHT MONTHS AFTER JASON’S DEATH

Barbara returned to the Batcave for the first time since Jason’s death. She came in without her usual flare, and didn’t meet Bruce’s eyes when she spoke.

“Barbara its good to see you again.” Bruce got out. 

Truthfully it wasn’t good to see her, seeing her reminded him of Jason’s funeral. He wished she would stay in university far away from the life of vigilantism, where she was much safer. But here she stood, proud and defiant as ever. 

“I heard that there is a new Robin.” Barbara said, her voice didn’t match her body language. She sounded watery, but her stance was defensive, hands on her hips.

“There isn't.” Bruce gritted out.

No matter what the media though, no matter what Dick or Tim thought, there would never be another Robin. That didn’t stop Tim from trailing after him on patrols, or seeking out other dangers. It didn’t mean that Bruce could just stop saving the child when he was in a tight spot, but he would alway return Tim home frustrated.

Several times as Batman he had tried to talk to Tim’s parents, getting the kid to stop sneaking out. But they have been on an extended vacation for the last three months, and had left their twelve year old son on his own. 

It made Bruce’s blood boil, and he wanted nothing more than to get Tim out of that situation, but he was scared. He didn’t want to get too attached to the kid, didn’t want to feel anything for the child.

“Oh.” Barbara said, as if she was unsure of what to say now, “But I’ve seen the new kid.”

“He won’t leave me alone, keeps following me around. I’ve been trying to get in contact with his parents, but there have been complications.” Bruce sighed, he didn’t really want to talk about this. He just wanted Tim to leave him alone, despite the fact that Tim’s presence had curbed his most violent tendencies, just like the kid knew it would.

“Oh.” Barbara repeated, “I mean I can’t tell you what to do, but I don’t think you should take on another Robin.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, just nodded. He never planed to take on anyone else.

NINE MONTHS AND THREE WEEKS AFTER JASON’S DEATH

It was Jason’s birthday, Bruce had called in sick from work already. He rose early, almost at dawn to go to Jason’s grave. In his pocket he brought a book, a tattered copy of Rumi’s Essential Poems. He had found it in Jason’s room months earlier, it was sitting on his nightstand bookmarked only a quarter of the way through.

Jason would never finish the book, and that hurt Bruce too much to dwell on. So he had decided that he would read it to Jason, so could hear him than he would at least get to finish the books.

This was the first time since the burial that Bruce was able to bring himself to come to the grave, seeing the his son’s name on the head stone made Bruce’s stomach churn. But he didn’t focus on that, instead he crouched how, his eyes firmly locked on where stone met grass.

“Jaylad, I’m sorry that I haven’t visited much.” Bruce started. 

Another apology, Bruce shook his head disappointed in himself, if he was truly sorry it wouldn’t keep happening.

“But I brought Rumi.” Bruce offered.

He spent hours reading poetry. Bruce had never liked poetry, he liked things to be much more black and white, he liked plot and a clear direction. Poets could spend sentence upon sentence about the smallest details. But he read it for Jason, and imagined Jason laughing at his reading voice, imagined Jason explaining the deeper significance that Bruce didn’t catch.

The sun was directly overhead when Dick arrived, holding a bouquet of daisies. Bruce gave a wry smile, thinking about how much Jason would’ve hated that. Could see Jason saying snidely, _“I’m dead and as a gift you kill a plant?”_

“Do you want time alone with him?” Bruce asked, trying to be tactful. 

Dick awkwardly placed the flowers on the grave.

“No,” Dick said, “I don’t know if I can be here alone.”

Bruce nodded, he wanted to offer Dick some comfort, wanted to say the right thing, but what was there to say? So they sat in silence.

“I feel guilty all the time.” Dick finally whispered his voice so low that Bruce had to strain to hear it, “Like if I had just been here, or if I had helped more with his training then maybe…”

“It’s not your fault.” Bruce promised, placing a hand on Dick’s shoulder and squeezing it tightly. Dick was nodding jerkily with teary eyes, Bruce wished he could stop Dick from feeling this. Wished he could turn back time.

Bruce wished a lot of things.

“How do you do it?” Dick asked with big blue eyes wide and trained on Bruce. But Bruce didn’t know what Dick meant, “How are you holding it all together?”

It was an easy answer.

“I’m not.”

ONE YEAR AFTER JASON’S DEATH

Batman wrenched Nightwing’s hand away from the mangled body of the Joker. Blood was pooling around the Joker’s mangled face, and his breathing was coming in and out in wheezy breaths. Still Nighwing fought to get out of Batman’s hold.

It was difficult for Batman to do it, because all Batman wanted was to see this monster dead more than anything. It wasn’t fair that this abomination got to live and his son had to die. But he didn’t get to be judge and jury.

“Nightwing! Enough, he’s down!” Batman shouted.

Nightwing whirled on him, his eyes wide. Batman could read the anger and pain in Nightwing’s stance. 

“Enough? This monster shot Batgirl, he killed Robin. He deserves to die!” Nightwing shouted. 

Batman’s heart tightened. He hadn’t been there when Batgirl had gotten shot, it was Tim who had been with her, Tim who held her as she was bleeding, while Nightwing and him were across town tracking down a false lead. 

“But you don’t deserve to be a murderer.” Batman insisted.

Nightwing sagged a little, he still looked ready to fight his father on it. But Dick had always had a similar moral compass as Bruce. 

Joker’s breathing started to stutter in and out. Sirens whirled in the background, and Nightwing looked stricken, scared of what he had done, what he was going to do.

“Go,” Batman put a hand on Nightwing’s shoulder, “Be with Batgirl.”

Nightwing nodded and bounded off, not giving the Joker a second look.

Batman walked towards the Joker, he was lying on the ground, but his eyes were opened in slits. The Joker smiled at Batman, he didn’t know how the villain was still awake, when he had been beaten within an inch of his life. 

“Saving me Batsy?” The Joker hissed, Batman could hear the blood bubbling in his lungs, probably punctured by a broken rib, “I always said there is no you without me.”

Hate surged through his veins. 

Batman didn’t mean to do it, the kick flew from him before he could stop himself. The Joker laughed, it was weak and pained, more of a punctuated exhale than a real laugh. It made Batman even angrier, made him almost murderous.

But Batman couldn’t do that.

He respected Jason too much, loved Jason too much to become a criminal for him.

That wasn’t a way to respect Jason’s memory, instead Batman would be become the best hero he could be. He would save as many people as he could, and each one would be for Jason, as atonement for not saving his boy.

The police arrived on the scene, and Batman slipped away, not in the mood to speak with anyone at the moment.

Instead he went to the hospital, as Bruce, and saw Barbara. She was lying asleep, Dick was holding one of her hands, Tim was curled in a ball in a seat near the corner of the room. The boy looked haunted, so Bruce sat next to the kid.

“Do you see now, why I don’t want you in the field?” Bruce asked softly.

Tim blinked at Bruce with wide eyes, and Bruce felt a surge of protectiveness for the kid. He looked tired, looked cold and scared, but he set his jaw, and looked at him with a level gaze.

“I have never been so scared in my entire life, but it doesn’t change the fact that you need a Robin, and I think it should be me.” 

Bruce bit his lip, he thought about the fact that Tim had run after Barbara, watched as she had gotten shot, could’ve gotten shot himself, just because Bruce wouldn’t take him in. If Bruce trained Tim the boy wouldn’t be running around in a costume made out of shiny polyester. Tim would be far more protected if Bruce was able to train him properly, to dress him in bulletproof kevlar.

“Okay, but you have to follow all my rules.” Bruce said solemnly.

“Deal!” Tim smiled brightly. 

ONE YEAR AND ONE MONTH AFTER JASON’S DEATH

Someone was knocking on the door to the manor with heavy handed urgency. Bruce didn’t know where Alfred is, so Bruce sighed yanking the door open. 

On his door step was Jason, his Jason. Looking the same as he did right before Ethiopia.

Bruce sank down threw his arms around his son. Tears pricked Bruce’s eyes as he held the boy. He breathed Jason in, he smelt of rain and dirt, and the faint scent of Gotham smog. It was the best smell Bruce had ever smelt.

“Dad, you’re choking me.” Jason laughed, awkwardly patting Bruce on the arm.

Bruce squeezed tighter. Jason had just started to call Bruce Dad, usually in innocuous moments, as if testing the waters of the name. Bruce hadn’t ever told him, but he liked the title. He wished both Dick and Jason would only refer to him as Dad from now on, but he never wanted to impose that on them.

“Whose that?” Jason asked finally, pulling back from Bruce’s grip.

Bruce turned around to see Tim standing behind him. He turned back to look at Jason, but the smiling boy was gone, instead was Jason, as he had been when he died. Bruised and bloody.

“You don’t save me, and you are still willing to bring in another kid?” Jason screamed. When he opened his mouth black blood oozed down his chin.

“You’re going to get him killed!” Jason promised. And Bruce was shaking his head wildly, willing Jason to stop yelling.

“No, no I will be better. For you, for him. I will be better.” Bruce promised, tears in his eyes.

“You failed me!” Jason continued, his face rapidly decomposing more and more, “You fail everyone. You’re a failure.”

Bruce awoke in a flash, covered in sweat and shaking from the nightmare. It was only four in the morning, he had returned home at 2:30, but after the dream he just had he knew there was no hope of falling asleep. Instead he padded downstairs.

The manor felt empty, all of his footsteps echoed for no one to hear. Bruce hadn’t been surprised when Dick proclaimed he moving out to Bludhaven, Dick had stayed at home for almost a year after Jason’s death. 

Now the house was just him and Alfred again.

That night Bruce went down to the cave and constructed a monument to Jason. It was a reminder of what he lost and what he fought for. The others didn’t like it, they didn’t understand that the point wasn’t to celebrate Jason, it was to condemn Bruce’s failures.

ONE YEAR AND FIVE MONTHS AFTER JASON’S DEATH

“I just want to say that I’m sorry about this.” Flash was speaking at the head of the Justice League table. He had called an emergency meeting, demanded everyone be there. Batman hadn’t come to the Justice League in a year. But Flash had insisted that even Batman was needed.

“About a year ago I went back in time and stopped my mother from being murdered. When I did that I created an alternate timeline, called Flashpoint. But that world it was messed up, I didn’t know how much changed when I saved my mom. Everyone was dying, so I ran back, I fixed it. I thought that I put everything back in place, but some things changed when I came back.” Flash looked down, clearly distraught over what had happened.

The entire League was silent, all waiting together.

“Changed how?” Clark finally prompted.

Flash took in a deep stuttering breath, “Well for one thing, my girlfriend was a blonde in my timeline, now she’s a red head. There was no Kon-el in my timeline. And Dinah was named Sarah, but she seems to be the same person.”

None of this was too terrible, but Flash was wringing his hands in a way that made Batman nervous. He had never really cared for Flash before, the hero was too naive to the ways of the world, Batman didn’t think that he could make the hard choices.

Then Flash looked Batman in the eyes, took a deep shaky breath as said, “And Robin survived the warehouse explosion.”

The air was punched from Batman’s lungs. He felt nothing for a terrifying second, and then he felt everything.

His son wasn’t supposed to die. His son should be here with him. And it was Flash’s fault.

A fiery anger overtook him, and he stood up, his hands curled into fists. He only managed one punch before Clark held Batman back.

“You’re the reason my son is dead!” Batman shouted, showing more emotion than he had in all of his years in the Justice League. Many of the members of the League, those who were not deemed close enough to know his secret identity, hadn’t known that Robin was Batman’s child. There was an audible gasp in the room. Diana bit her lip, not sure what to do, and Flash looked like a kicked puppy.

Batman wanted for Flash to be beaten black and blue, to be hurt just as Jason had been hurt. And ugly part wanted Flash dead.

“Batman, I’m so sorry!” Flash pleaded.

_Sorry doesn’t bing back my son!_

“You have had a year to tell us this, why wait until now?” J’onn asked in a poised voice, as if Batman wasn’t struggling to get out of Clark’s hold. As if Flash hadn’t just admitted that he was the reason Batman lost a child.

“Eobard Thawne.” Flash whispered, “He found out, and was going to use the information to turn you all against me. I thought I could get in front of it. Try to salvage something.”

Batman saw red.

“So you were never going to tell us? You were just content to live your life with this secret?” Batman hissed out.

“No!” Flash pleaded, “I struggled every day with this secret. Wondering if I should tell you, if it’s even worse not to know.”

Honestly Batman didn’t know, he didn’t really care. Either way he was lied to, and now his son was dead. 

“Time travel again, fix this.” Batman commanded, his voice tight edged with iron.

Flash looked stricken, his skin paled under the bright red suit. 

“I can’t.” It was almost a whisper.

“Can’t? Or Won’t?” Batman’s voice came out as a growl.

“Every time I go back in time things change a little bit. I can’t go back, because that risks everybody.” 

So that was how it was? Batman loses a son and the Flash’s wife gets a dye job. His fists clenched and his body was taut, ready to fight. If Clark hadn’t been holding him back, the Flash would be knocked out.

“Let me go Clark.” Batman warned.

Clark didn’t seem happy about it, a scowl twisting his face, but he did as he was told. Flash flinched, but Batman stalked to the door.

“Eobard Thawne was right. I am no longer your ally Flash.” Batman warned. His tone was deep, unreadable. He could hear the Flash gulp, and a small part of Batman was satisfied.

He was walking down the Watch Tower’s corridors, needing to be home. He needed to go out and fight someone, punch something. Maybe he needed to lay down and cry.

The corridor seemed to close in on him, it was too hot, and too small. Batman might suffocate in this hallway.

Then a strong hand found his, squeezing it gently, but with enough pressure for him to be sure that it was there. Batman blinked to see Diana holding his hand. 

“Jason was a lovely boy.” Diana smiled, it was soft and sad, but genuine. “He always wanted to hang off of me, he asked if he could become an Amazonian.”

Batman didn’t smile, but he didn’t feel like he was dying anymore, “You always were his favorite.”

“The Flash lost at least two allies today, he may still lose more.” Diana’s eyes were sharper than knives. 

It didn’t matter though. He didn’t really care if the Flash was completely alone, because that wouldn’t bring Jason back. Nothing short of going back and fixing it again would do that. But he was glad to have Diana by his side.

ONE YEAR AND SEVEN MONTHS AFTER JASON’S DEATH

Bruce knew on some level that Tim was being neglected, and he wanted to do something about it. There were many whispered conversations with Alfred on the subject. Alfred kept saying that they could take Tim in, make sure he was cared for properly, but Bruce didn’t know if he could do that, if he could open his heart again.

But Tim’s parents hadn’t been home in months and it was worrying.

In the time that Bruce had known Tim, the boy’s parents had been home a grand total of three times, their stay at home in the past year totalled only a month.

It all came to a head when Tim came down with the flu, so bad that he almost had to go to the hospital. No one had noticed because Tim’s parents weren’t home and he wasn’t due for the Manor until late in the day. It had been sheer luck that Bruce called to make amends to the time. When Time hadn’t picked up Bruce had gone over to check on him.

He found Tim in an empty house, passed out over a toilet. Tim was thin, lean muscles and bony features, but he had never looked so small on the bathroom floor. His skin flushed a dark red, and his hair plastered to his face in a sheen of sweat.

Bruce hadn’t panicked (He only called Alfred three times and contemplated calling the hospital twice) and brought back Tim to the manor. It was that night he started the abuse claim, and it was that night he made sure his status as a foster parent was up to date.

When Bruce had checked the web browser to see his status, the screen blinked back. 

**Bruce Wayne: Approved Foster Parent**

**Flags: One (1) child died under his care (see Jason Peter Todd). Death ruled accidental and not caused by negligence.**

Bruce had stared at the screen so long his eyes started to blur. Jason’s death was absolutely caused by negligence, it was his fault that Jason died. Tim deserved a better foster parent than Bruce ever could be.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said, breaking Bruce from his train of though, “Master Timothy is awake, and asking for you.”

Bruce nodded, putting the monitor to sleep and climbing up the stairs to Tim. They had set Tim up in one of the bedrooms, the one across the hall from Jason’s room. Tim was sitting up in bed, still looking sickly and flushed, but much better since medicine had been forced down his throat.

“How’d you break into my house?” Tim asked.

Bruce raised a brow at Tim and then said, “I’m Batman.”

Tim laughed, it was more of a snort than a real laughter, but it was good to hear.

“Tim I know this is the last thing you want to talk about, but we need to discuss your parents.” Bruce said.

Tim shifted in the bed, his fists curling around the sheets. 

“What about them?” Tim asked, but Bruce could tell that Tim already guessed where the conversation was going.

“I want to file a report on them. But I won’t do it if you can give me a good reason not to.” 

Tim opened his mouth and shut it again. He looked distraught. Bruce put a hand on his Tim’s shoulder. The heat of his body radiated through the thin tee-shirt.

“Think about it, we’ll talk about it at the end of the week, right now you need to rest.” Bruce promised.

“What about Robin?” Tim asked, struggling to sit up.

“Batman needs a night off.” 

ONE YEAR AND NINE MONTHS AFTER JASON’S DEATH

“You take him into your home?” Jason was screaming, his face kept flashing between normal and the beaten swollen mess he had been left with, “You can’t take care of him! You know that right?”

Bruce was sitting in a big plush chair in the library, his body rigid. He couldn’t move, couldn’t block out Jason’s screams. 

Not that he wanted to anyway.

He deserved this, he deserved to suffer for how he failed his son. So he listened to every screaming tearful word and took them to heart.

He trained Tim extra hard, made him learn more before going into the field. Made him work harder than Dick or Jason had. Because he wasn’t losing another Robin, he wasn't losing another son.

“You will.” Jason hissed, right now his face was covered in sticky wet blood. He looked disappointed, though it was hard to tell behind all the swelling. “You lose everything. Everyone you touch dies. Everyone you love dies.”

“I don’t love -” Bruce tried, but the words died in his throat. He had invited Tim into his home, the boy was living with him and Bruce saw him as another son. Even though he didn’t want to, wanted to keep Tim at arms length, Bruce was in over his head. And he did love Tim, cared for him even before he came the manor.

Jason laughed, it was a laugh that mirrored the Joker’s.

“Old Man.” Sneered Jason, his face back to normal but twisted in disgust, “You are so utterly fucked.”

Bruce woke up with Jason’s words still echoing in his head.

_Utterly fucked._

TWO YEARS AFTER JASON’S DEATH

Adopting Tim was a momentous day for him. He had been fostering Tim for months and it just felt right to adopt the boy.

Tim is amazing, he is so smart, smarter even than Bruce was. Dick adored his new brother, often stopping by the manor and taking Tim out for brotherly bonding. 

But the day is also slightly hallow. Because there is a Jason sized hole in their life. And even though Bruce had worried that adopting Tim would be a a cheap fix for this, he had been wrong. Instead of filling Jason’s space, Tim carved his own spot in Bruce’s heart, creating a place that was utterly for him.

Bruce and Tim were photographed on the steps out of the courthouse after the adoption was finalized. Pictures that were snapped all showed Bruce with a real genuine smile, and Tim looking positively giddy. It was a perfect day.

Until the tabloids came out.

_BRUCE WAYNE MOVING ON FROM TRAGEDY_

Bruce had almost screamed, throwing the magazine to the floor. Growing up he had learned to deal with the press and the lies, but this one made his blood boil.

He would never move on from Jason. You can’t move on from the loss of a son. There is no way, because Bruce still has nightmares about his son, he still sees Jason in the eyes of everyone, he still glimpses people on the street and is so sure that it’s Jason, until he is able to really see them.

Bruce spent hours on the phone with his lawyers. He piles lawsuit after lawsuit onto the magazine. Gets the reporter of that article fired, but he doesn’t feel better. He still feels like he gross and angry. Still feels like he failed Jason.

So Bruce grabs a small book and goes to Jason’s grave.

Since Jason’s birthday last year Bruce had come to Jason’s grave every Sunday morning and would read to his boy. He didn’t believe that Jason could hear it, but he kept coming back. It was more for himself than for Jason.

But Jason already had a visitor. 

Tim was crouched in front of Jason’s headstone, and Bruce faltered unsure if he should step forward or give Tim space.

“Oh I forgot…” Tim’s voice carried over to him, “I’m Tim your new brother.”

Bruce let out a breath, his heart swelling more than he ever thought it could. Tim was too kind, too good, to be a part of the family. Too pure to be exposed to the curse that is Bruce Wayne. But now that Bruce had him, he can’t imagine ever letting the boy go.

“Did you know, I looked up to you so much? I thought you were the coolest person ever, and I still do. I hope that I can live up to you.” Tim said, his voice softer, but still carrying across the silent graveyard.

It was awkward to stand there, behind Tim with a book in hand. But he couldn’t think of something to say, and just watched his youngest child standup and leave Jason’s grave, eyes not even finding Bruce.

TWO YEARS AND SIX MONTHS AFTER JASON’S DEATH

It still hurt every single day, the absence of his son was poignant and in the forefront of his mind. Bruce knew the pain would never really go away, he still grieved his parents who died decades ago, but it was getting progressively easier to deal with. 

He woke up in the mornings and his first thought wasn’t always Jason. And then he would feel guilty that he didn’t wake up with his son on his mind.

Thinking about Jason no longer hurt just because it was about Jason though. Sometimes he would think happy thoughts that included Jason, and he wouldn’t want to curl into himself.

Bruce would go to Tim’s science fair and would be proud, would be excited when he won first prize. And then he would think about how he and Jason had spent an entire night frantically putting together a poster board about rocks.

Dick would come over and insist on movie night and they would pick a movie. Bruce would always wonder if Jason would have liked it.

It still hurt to breath, like Killer Croc was sitting on his chest. But it was getting easier.

THREE YEARS AFTER JASON’S DEATH

It wasn’t a nightmare exactly, but it was a terrible dream.

Bruce was sitting in the front foyer reading the newspaper, Tim was sitting in his general vicinity typing away at his computer a class paper. The door banged open and Jason came in.

In most of Bruce’s dreams Jason remained stagnant, frozen at the age of fifteen, but not this time. He was eighteen and smiling and happy. Jason had always been slight, a product of severe malnutrition as a child, and thus was still very thin, but he had shot up almost as tall as Bruce himself. 

Jason wore an orange and black tee-shirt that read: Princeton University. Over one shoulder there was a bag of dirty laundry. 

“What’s up fuckers?” Jason laughed.

“Language Jay, Tim is here.” Bruce chastised, not really upset.

Tim didn’t look up from his computer, “I’ve heard worse.”

But Jason looked at Tim with a little frown, “No no little bird, you aren’t allowed to hear any naughty words.”

“You sound like Dick.” Tim laughed.

Jason gasped, pretending to be offended, but went over to Tim and ruffled the boy’s hair good naturedly, like they were brothers, like they were happy.

Then Jason came to Bruce, smiling so happily. Bruce stood, his body moving on it’s own accord. 

“Heya Dad,” Jason laughed wrapping Bruce in a tight hug, “Didya miss me?”

Bruce woke up the words on his lips, “more than you know Jaylad.”

It was the worst dream that Bruce had had in years. Because he didn’t deserve it. It was his fault that Jason didn’t get to grow up. It was his fault his son would never go to college at an ivy league. His fault that Tim would never get to meet his brother. It was all his fault.

Bruce ran to the bathroom and threw up.

FOUR YEARS AFTER JASON’S DEATH

Talia had broken into his cave with two boys in tow. The younger one was the spitting image of a young Thomas Wayne. The other was something.

There was something in his eyes, not the color (Jason’s eye’s had been blue this young man’s were a sharp emerald), but something that reminded Bruce of Jason. But he shook it off, he still sees Jason on the streets sometimes, sees someone and for a second is certain that it is his son. Usually when he blinks the resemblance is gone. But this young man's resemblance stays.

Bruce purposefully didn’t look at him, focused all his energy on Damian. He had been gifted another son, but it still felt like the price was Jason. 

**Author's Note:**

> So I hope these things come across in the fic but if not my general idea is that Jason died and then when Flash returned to fix Flashpoint, he came back to life because he wasn't supposed to die. 
> 
> Also I was trying to convey that Bruce 'sees' Jason a lot. He sees people and thinks they are Jason if only for a minute. I wrote this because when my sister died I once was convinced that I saw her in a supermarket but it was just a girl with the same haircut.


End file.
